Art comes forward on tiptoe, unpretentious and as light as the spoor of an animal in snow. Art has to melt into nature. It should even be confused with nature. But this is the opposite of naturalistic copying on canvas or stone. All one has to do is lower one’s eyelids, and inner rhythm will pass purer through the hand: the harmonics, the pulsation, the repetitions, and the metaphor of the melody become the rhythm of a deep breath.
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Hans Arp
Art comes forward on tiptoe, unpretentious and as light as the spoor of an animal in snow. Art has to melt into nature. It should even be confused with nature. But this is the opposite of naturalistic copying on canvas or stone. All one has to do is lower one’s eyelids, and inner rhythm will pass purer through the hand: the harmonics, the pulsation, the repetitions, and the metaphor of the melody become the rhythm of a deep breath.
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